Enter Doctor Max - RPLOG
Participants
Date
6/8/478
Log
The boxy Creator ship has been sitting there in the tourney field for over an hour now, with no signs of anyone or anything emerging from it. The crowd that had gathered has mostly dispersed, the majority of beings unwilling to miss out on their daily livelyhoods for a spectacle that may or may not even happen. Maybe the ship is just lost and trying to get its bearings? It is a rather ugly thing too, not sleek and exciting like Jetstream's ship was, and far too small to be a one of Harkonson's merchant vessels. It is actually a lot like the scholar ships that have visited recently, but without any adornment or decoration. And it is just SITTING there.
Flora blinks a few moments as she watches the tournament-field from a distance, seated on the back of her usual golem, Bastet, and watching the beings scurry off. Her ears flick lightly, and soon enough, curiousity gets the better of her, the feline steering her golem over towards the vessel gently.
Bao is at loose ends, for once having no requests from any of the various organizations that call on his services. Even Ser'ther has been quiet. While he probably ought to enjoy the quiet day with a restful swim, the draw of a creator ship is too much to resist. The sea lion arrives on foot, wearing his usual 'city' mix of functionally-cut noble garb.
Rokarion was just coming back into Firmament, a pouch in hand filled with some herbs he was collecting in the Eastbank Foret before his eyes catch the docked Creator ship. Wondering who it was this time, the plant being shifted his direction towards the tournament grounds.
The milling crowd has thinned down to only a few, stalwart ship watchers and the vendors that take advantage of impromptu crowd entertainment have moved along to more promising locales when the vessel's rear hatch disengages with a loud HISS of air. Probably air elementals escaping. Who knows why Creators do things.
The hatch opens slowly and a ramp extends with the accompanying chirps and warbles of helpful machine spirits to warn beings away from the landing area. After the ramp has set itself in place, a Creator, rather larger and bulkier than most that the beings of Promise have seen so far steps out and looks over the gathered crowd. He (Well, it is probably a he) nods and his lips move as he passes some communication back to those still inside the ship.
Flora blinks a few times as she watches the vessel, steering her golem around the crowd to get a good look of the entire vessel from various angles, while her tail sways lazily from side to side as she keeps a close eye on the large, bulky creator.
Spirits, Bao has gotten (slightly) more comfortable with. Creators still weird him out. He wonders what this one wants, but is neither confident nor pushy enough to ask. The sea lion does, though, move closer to the ship.
The big Creator walks down the ramp and simply stares around at the few beings still gathered. He squints in the sunlight momentarily before producing a pair of shaded glasses, and slips it on. It only makes sense that Creators would have such a luxury item readily available.
Behind him, another group comes down the ramp. Two more burly Creator men in identical uniforms flank some sort of small chair that hovers about two feet off the ground and is pushed along by an enormous Bull being, also wearing a Creator uniform. In the chair sits a small, child like figure.
Rokarion enters the tournament ground as the ship's ramp opens, rubbing his chin as he eyes the thin crowd before looking back at the hunk of a creator, the plant being never knew they also had their own heavy folk.
Flora blinks a few more times, her eyes cast towards the smaller figure with far more curiosity than the bulky creators. After all, there was only one of the former, while several of the latter are present.
Bao tilts his head curiously. It's clearly a guard of some sort--it's hard to mistake the scene-scanning and careful flanking for anything other than protection. Who is it that's being protected? And why on Promise have they come? Knowing so little of the Creators, Bao continues to hold his tongue.
Rokarion rubs his chin and looks at the small creator on the wheel chair...hmmm, perhaps it is some kind of noble or scholar, but the figure sure does have quite the peculiar body. The plant being looks at the sky then back at his pouch, deciding that he has enough time to waste here, his own jasmine scent wafting around him in this hot weather, pity that it is not raining.
The burly Bull being releases his grip on the floating chair for just a moment to spread a canopy to keep the sun off the seat's occupant before stepping out into the sunlight, the other three bruisers moving into a protective formation.
"Well?" Comes a mechanical voice from the shape in the chair, "What are we waiting for? Get a move on!" It certainly does not sound like a child. Despite the artificial sound of the voice, it almost certainly has the tone of an old man!
Bao served a captain once who spoke in the same impatient demands. He feels a pang of sympathy for the guards and the Bull who seems to be playing porter. He's curious about the Creator's errand, though, and a little annoyed at the complete ignoring of the small crowd.
Rokarion rubbed his chin as he saw the demanding Creator before looking around, well...it seemed like Doctor Parson had allowed this man entry into Promise...but if the scene is any indication...he did not inform the local government. Deciding it is best not to interfere right now, Rokarion keeps to his side.
At the tiny figure's urging, the Bull pushes him gently forward as the thugs around him keep the crowd from getting too close. It is quite certain now that the thing in the chair is not a child. It seems rather to be a wizened old monkey, or something like one, carefully encased in a shining suit of some sort with a domed bubble over its head and shoulders. It, or more likely, he glares out from his bubble at the beings and world around him from under thick, heavy brows.
"So this is the mudhole that Sinclaire sold her career for?" he snaps as he peers about, "Hard to believe she thought all these ANIMALS (His speaking machine interjects) could possibly be worth it!" It seems that he is talking to someone, a machine spirit perhaps, since he sits silently in an attitude of listening. "I don't give a EXPLICATIVE what Parson's reports say!" he gripes at whoever it was that was speaking to him, "I want to see it myself. Where's the EXPLICATIVE guide you promised me!?"
Rokarion raises a brow at the rather rude Creator, the plant being deciding to focus on the translation rather than whatever the creator is saying in his own tongue. Finally deciding to interject, Rokarion takes a step closer and raises a hand, "Excuse me, sir. Are you looking for someone? I couldn't help but hear that you are waiting for a guide, if you give us more details, I think we can show you where they is."
Flora blinks. Again. And she seems to be a bit upset at the Creator's rudeness, as evidenced by the agitated flick of her tail. Even so, she keeps a straight face for the time being, watching Rokarion move up to the... Thing in the bubble.
"Mudhole." Bao mutters under his breath. If it were a Cliffsider in a bar, Bao would have popped him one. As it's a heavily-guarded Creator, that's not an option. Bao wonders what it will take to get the Creator to leave, and if there's some way he can help with that without losing his temper.
